I am Tenderly Lucky

Actually. I was until my boyfriend opened his mouth.

He bought me breakfast in bed.

We made love, and it was lovely.

And I was dreaming about that sentence:

" I am tenderly lucky," and how light and

all everything it was.  I got up to put it

down on this blog.  Just the title.  And he

walks in.  He starts to talk to me and then

I ask him if he could let me be for 5 minutes

to do this.  He speaks only French.  I can't think

in English if he is speaking French to me.  And so

he belittles the blog with one sentence.  Knowing

that I am not writing poetry right now because we

have a house that we are building.  Knowing that it

is rare indeed that I write at all.  

But he just can't shut his mouth.

In my heart I know he is good.

In my heart I know he is mean, as well.

I am a sensitive girl.

Now what was going to be an interesting and

joyful blogpost, is a shitty blog post.

Thank you.

Boyfriend.

O But The Joy of the Christian Side Hug

This. Has given me so much reason to live today.

Before I make my foie gras (by microwaving it, yes!)
I just have to give a huge "what-what" to the alien
invasion that is having a massive chortle on
our behalf up there in the starry starry night.

It just can't get any better than this:

Who've I Gotta F*** to Lose a Kilo

I've always been an athlete-artist personage.

Tennis, horse-back riding, running, swimming,
dance, music, writing, acting--and all of that on my mom's
single mother with two kids salary--no country club action.

Now that I'm 40 my exercise is running. 3 + miles/day.
And I know how to eat. But this summers fete action has
not been peeling off like the winter fete action did.
I've been running like a flea for 6 weeks and the scale
will not give up the goods. The goods are staying on me
in an all-over cuddle sort of way and that would be ok
except:

in 5 weeks I am going to be face to face with a full on
very hot movie star with whom I was friends 10 years ago
when we were in the same acting class and I weighed
20 pounds less. I haven't seen him in all of those 10 years.

this is not going to be good.

No one would call me fat, being 5'10".
But I gain all over which means my face, as well.
It is all a little disheartening. Like I am going to full
on see my physical demise in a close-up shot from
a straight woman's hell. The falling face of a handsome man.

My own man loves my body. And shows me. Every day.
For this I am grateful and thankful. And I show my thanks.
Every day.

But who've I gotta f*** to lose at least one friggin' kilo?

the good news: suicide moment is over and the very large
dining room ceiling is painted as the floor awaits the
positioning of the wood face it will sport into eternity.

also: Barack is going to pull out of Afghanistan.

And: my scrabble score is up.

so there's that.